


Clipped

by quillquiver



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Ends on a fluffy note, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Introspection, M/M, human!Cas, protective!Dean, wing!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-12
Updated: 2013-11-12
Packaged: 2018-01-01 07:23:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1042007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quillquiver/pseuds/quillquiver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which the roles are reversed: Dean puts Cas back together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clipped

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Spn.

 

The first time it happened, Dean thought Castiel was just looking at his back. 

The hunter had been walking towards his room and had passed the bathroom on his way. The door was open and Dean had barely paused when he saw Cas looking at himself in the mirror over the sink, the newly turned human craning his neck to look past his shoulders. 

Dean had continued walking. 

The second time, the action gave the hunter pause. Not because Cas was sitting on his bed, again contorting his body in a ridiculous manner in order to look over his shoulder, but because the forlorn look the ex-angel gave the empty air near his back was one that communicated a deep anguish. 

"Cas?" 

Castiel started, gaze flicking up to Dean in alarm. Carefully, the hunter entered the room, looking at the angel, concerned. "You okay?"

"Yes," he murmured. But as Dean continued to look at him, the other man broke eye contact, turning to look at his headboard. 

Cas _never_ broke eye contact. Not unless it was something serious.

The eldest Winchester moved to stand beside Castiel, fully intending to grill the ex-angel for all he was worth before his eyes caught the notebook laying open on the bed. 

The figure of a man, hunched down on his knees, covered a small space at the bottom of the page. The man was draped trench coat, his hands balled into fists with an angel blade on other side of the page, sitting there, useless. Though Dean could not see the figure’s face, the way his dark mop of hair hung in defeat communicated a sort of helplessness the hunter identified with. Most striking, however, were the wings that sprouted from the man's back. Inky and jagged, they looked to be only half finished... And Cas had angrily scribbled all over them. Wet spots had blurred the graphite lines haphazardly, giving the drawing, especially the wings, a chaotic, broken feel. Dean was breathless, and looked at his best friend in a sort of concerned awe. "Did you... draw this?"

The angel nodded, looking straight ahead. He blinked three or four times in quick succession, letting out a trembling breath as his hands gripped his bed sheets. With heart-wrenching amazement, the hunter realized his friend was trying to hold back tears. "It's, um, it's really good," Dean said softly. He shut his eyes tightly. Not the most consoling thing to say, but he panicked. Cas didn't cry. Ever.

"Thank you," the ex-angel said stoically. 

Dean bit his lip. "Cas." 

No answer. 

" _Cas_."

Nothing. Castiel sat rigid, staring at his headboard blankly. 

Rolling his eyes, the hunter grabbed his friend's shoulders, forcefully turning Cas so they faced each other. "Hey. What the hell is going on with you?" 

Castiel glared up at him. Glared. And though he was no longer an angel, the look still made Dean want to cower. He held his ground, however, cocking a brow. "Well?"

"It's nothing."

"Really? Don't look like nothing from where I'm standing."

" _Then it's none of your concern_."

Dean tried very hard to stay calm. Not because he was angry, but the hunter was beyond frustrated. None of his concern? They were... I mean, what he... _Of course_ it was his concern. This was _Cas_ they were talking about. 

But Dean didn't say that. Instead, he shrugged in that sarcastic way he knew how, the corner of his mouth pointing downwards as he pursed his lips. "Fine. You wanna be miserable? Be miserable. I don’t give a shit." 

Though Castiel looked to be near breaking point, the dark-haired man set his jaw, staring at Dean expectantly before the hunter left the room in a huff. When Dean shut the door behind him, Castiel dissolved, curling in on himself as he turned to stare at the door, hating himself for both his human weakness and for pushing Dean away. 

The hunter did not hear from Cas until well into the night.

The sound of his door opening had woken the hunter from his slumber and Dean immediately reached for the knife under his mattress, waiting for the right moment to jump whatever son of a bitch had dared enter his room. He never got the chance, however, because the figure sat down on the edge of his bed. “Dean?” it asked softly.

"Cas, what the hell, dude? You almost scared the friggin’ crap outta me,” the hunter squinted in the darkness.

“I apologize. I can-” He moved to get up and Dean grabbed his arm, tugging him back on the bed with a huff.

“No difference now, I’m up,” he groused. “What d’you want?”

It was quiet for a spell, but Dean saw Castiel sit up straighter in the dark, body more rigid. Mentally, the hunter prepared himself for whatever serious conversation they were about to have. In the months following his switch to mortality, Cas had developed little human quirks… And tensing up before a serious discussion was one of them. It kind of reminded Dean of back in the angel days, when such a tensed posture had been regular for the blue-eyed man.

“…I don’t want to be miserable,” Cas said softly.

Aw, hell.

Scrubbing his hands over his face, Dean wondered if he was ever going to be capable of not being an asshole. “I know you don’t, man. Look, I was an ass before. I’m sorry.”

Cas didn’t say a word, but Dean could see him nodding in the dark. The hunter reached for his bedside lamp. “Don’t,” Castiel ordered, hand on the hunter’s arm.

Some part of Dean was very uncomfortable with having this and any other conversation in such close proximity to Cas, especially in the dark. Not because he didn’t trust the blue-eyed man, Dean trusted him with his life… It was the feelings that cropped up; the explicit, dirty thoughts that lived in the most hidden compartments of himself and made the hunter feel weird and hot and _weird._

But Castiel’s deep, dark tone of voice made Dean move away from the lamp, sitting up to lean against the headboard. He waited in silence for a good five minutes before Cas plucked up the courage to speak:

“It’s my wings.”

Dean frowned in the dark. “But you lost them… didn’t you?”

_Way to go, Dean. Really. Dude is having an angel-crisis and you just go for the jugular. Awesome._

And it was a sort of angel-crisis. Actually, the eldest Winchester suddenly found himself considering something he never had before: Cas was a soldier, Cas had been taken off the battle field… Cas had lost his wings. Was it possible he was experiencing some sort of phantom pain? Maybe the empty air near his back literally _hurt_. Like when you lost a leg or an arm or something.

Dean frowned, feeling more guilty than he had in a while (which was saying something). He had assumed the ex-angel would get over the fact that he was human. I mean, yeah, maybe he’d be upset for a while, but then it’d pass… After all, Castiel had never given himself much thought as a celestial being. It had always been about the cause.

But now there was no cause.

"My wings have been clipped, but they are not gone," Cas said softly. "I just can't feel them." He extended his long, graceful fingers over the his shoulder, touching his back with a furrow in his brow. "When an angel loses its Grace, it loses what makes it an angel. My wings, they don't make me an angel, they're simply an aspect of my physicality. Rather, my metaphysicality." He looked at Dean, face the picture of helplessness and confusion that the hunter couldn’t see in the dark but knew was there anyway. "It's painful," he murmured. "But it doesn't hurt." 

Dean stayed quiet, simply scooting forward to put his hand on the other man's shoulder in what he hoped was a reassuring gesture. Consoling ex-angels was a first for him. Then again, it was only Cas... And Dean knew Cas. "Look," the hunter started, "I can't even pretend to know what you're going through, but, Cas, I know _you_. And you’ve come back from so much worse.”

“It’s not the same, Dean. The loss I feel-”

“Will get better. I promise.”

“You can’t promise that.”

“Cas, man, you gotta listen to me here: you will make it through this. You wanna know why? Because you’re Castiel. You’re always fine. I mean, hell, you were a frickin’ _angel_. That’s gotta count for something, right?”

“’Were’ being the operative word,” Cas replied. “Now, I’m… I am _useless_.” He spat the last word with such disgust that Dean’s skin crawled.

“No, you’re _not_. At the very least you’re another pair of eyes, and that’s always good to have. You know a crap ton of stuff that even Sam can’t find in a library, and you’re- I mean, come on, man, you’re one of us. Those douche wings didn’t make you, Cas. _You_ made you.”

“I don’t know how to fight-”

“You’ll learn.” Dean’s tone became more and more desperate, his mind racing a mile a minute. If it had been him, he would have drowned himself in alcohol… But Cas wasn’t him, thank God. Then again, this defeatist, depressed thing he had going on was disturbingly reminiscent of End of Days Cas in 2014… Add the fact that Sam had an angel knocking around inside him and you were left with one terrified Dean Winchester.

It seemed like all the pieces were falling into place in precisely the wrong order.

“Listen, I know it feels like everything sucks. And maybe it does… You used to belong to a much better club.” The hunter bit his lip. “But being human, it’s also great. You get to _live_ , Cas, really live; eat and get drunk and fall in love and have sex… You get to make your own crappy choices and feel all those things they hated at Bible Camp. And your wings- I said it before and I’ll say it again: they didn’t make you.”

Dean turned on the light.

Cas was sitting at the edge of the bed, looking down at his lap with a frown, tears dripping onto his clasped hands.

And suddenly, it was like Dean was ten, and Sammy was upset that Dad hadn’t come home for his birthday again. Immediately, the hunter moved to sit next to his friend, arm moving to wrap around the ex-angel’s shoulders in a hug. He pressed his face to the side of Cas’ head, wishing more than anything that he could take the hurt away.

Castiel did not deserve this.

After a moment, the ex-angel turned, looking more embarrassed and ashamed than anything else as he opened his mouth with what Dean was sure was going to be an apology.

“Don’t,” the hunter said, softer than he’d intended. “Everybody breaks sometimes.” He thumbed the liquid from the other man’s cheeks, too caught up in it all to think about what he was doing. It was instinct: one of his own was hurting, and he needed to protect them.

Cas clenched his jaw. “I never did.”

“You also never felt things.” Though the words made a part of him want to ask when the hell he’d grown a vagina, the hunter ignored it, focusing on Castiel. The dark-haired man needed protecting right now, not Dean or Sam or Dean’s masculinity.

The ex-angel scoffed. “Feel what? Hunger? Despair? Fear? Being so aware of my mortality that I _feel_ as if I’m vibrating?”

“No, man… Love. Belonging. All that girly stuff that makes the shit worth it.”

“I don’t belong anywhere,” Cas told him simply. “I never have. And so I will never be loved.” The final, careless way Castiel explained that made the hunter frown deeply, an empty feeling filling his chest cavity. How could he say shit like that?

Dean kissed him.

Without even thinking, the hunter pressed his mouth to the other’s, holding him as if to shield him from the world. Cas thought nobody loved him? He thought he didn’t belong? He was _wrong_.

Castiel tensed in shock before relaxing, making a small noise of surprise when Dean pulled away slightly only to capture the ex-angel’s bottom lip between own, nibbling lightly. Cas’ hands immediately went to his friend’s shoulders, one hand fitting perfectly on the print Dean knew was there.

Overkill. This was overkill.

But it felt _so good_.

A warm feeling exploded in the ex-angel’s chest, made only more intense when the he felt his hunter’s fingers drift underneath his shirt to trace over his ribs and waist. Accidentally, Cas’ tongue swept against Dean’s bottom lip and the sandy-haired man immediately opened his mouth, groaning.

Okay, so what if they went a little overboard? That didn’t make them any less manly. Maybe it made them even _more_ manly… Because they were just _so secure_ in their relationship that they could give each other supportive, loving, hot kisses and be totally cool about it after.

When Castiel nibbled on his bottom lip, Dean was forced to acknowledge that there was no coming back from this. And surprisingly, he didn’t give half as many shits as he’d been expecting.

Cas had never felt so loved. Which was odd, he thought, because angels loved over millennia. Their love was unwavering and strong and withstood all of time and space. It was an ever-present hum in the back of the Universe. But this love, this desperate, needy, urgent, _love-filled_ love… it was different. It felt like glory and sin and creation and death all wrapped into one emotion. This love demanded to be heard.

So the newly-turned mortal listened.

Dean pulled away, a little shocked at his revelation but unable to keep a small and stupidly content smile from his face. He pressed chaste kisses to Castiel’s mouth before stopping completely and looking at his angel (because Cas would always be his angel) more seriously. “Look, I’m not saying that you should be happy all the time. You’re allowed to be as upset and pissed as you wanna be… That’s one of the perks about being human. But don’t get stuck down there. Because once you’re stuck, getting back up seems impossible. It’s not; there’s always a way out, but it doesn’t feel that way.”

Cas looked at the eldest Winchester, baby blues soulful as his friend looked away, embarrassed as he continued. “A-And _never_ go to drugs or alcohol or prostitutes to solve your problem, you hear me? Come to me first. Because no matter how much of an asshole I am or seem to be, I will always be here for you, Cas. Always.” Dean looked up at his friend, extremely serious. “You get me?”

Castiel couldn’t stop the small quirk of his lips as he nodded softly. “I get you.”

“Good.”

“And I felt… I mean, I feel-” Cas cut himself off, not able to properly communicate the emotions coursing through his veins.

Dean grinned, shrugging as if it were no big deal despite the fact that both men knew how heavy and important this conversation was. “I get you,” he said simply.

And then they were kissing again, mouths mashing together in a delicious, chaotic rhythm that should have been weird but only made Dean want more. Grinning, the hunter swung himself over his angel, pressing him back into the mattress as he held Cas’ wrists above his head, lips attached to the other man’s neck. Castiel moaned softly squirming underneath his hunter as Dean smiled against his skin, marking his flesh near the collarbone. Fuck it, let everybody see that Cas was _his_.

“Dean.”

The tone of voice gave him pause, and the hunter stopped cold, cheeks red as Cas wriggled a wrist free and pushed on Dean’s chest. The eldest Winchester sat back on the bed, looking at Castiel curiously as the dark-haired man crawled to him on all fours. The angel kissed him slowly and Dean felt his toes curls for the first time in forever. Carefully settling himself on the hunter’s thighs, Cas pushed the sandy-haired man back onto the bed, every movement slow and deliberate and so incredibly loving and sexy Dean didn’t know what to do with himself. “Cas,” he sighed.

“’M here.”

Purposefully, the hunter let his hands drift to Castiel’s back, fingers ghosting over the area he imagined his wings would have been. Cas tensed, lips unmoving against his partner’s as Dean traced patterns over the ex-angel’s t-shirt covered flesh. Castiel gasped, leaning his forehead against his hunter’s as his brows knitted, eyes fluttering shut as he bit his lip. “Cas?” Dean asked, concerned.

“It-It’s okay,” Castiel replied, cheeks red as he opened his eyes. “But don’t… don’t stop.”

“Can you feel them?” Dean asked quietly.

Cas shook his head. “No… But it’s very- _oh_.”

Dean had, absently, traced his name on the ex-angel’s right shoulder blade. Castiel shivered violently, flushed as he looked down at his hunter, eyes wide. “I must… It must be a side-effect of Falling. Angel wings are very sensitive.”

“So what, you’re feeling after effects?” Dean asked, propping himself on his elbows.

Cas frowned. “Maybe.”

“Hm,” the hunter smirked, reaching back to brush his fingers over the other shoulder blade. Cas moaned loudly, face more red than before. “Interesting.”

“ _Dean_ ,” the dark-haired man hissed. “We’ll wake your brother.”

“Please, the nerd can sleep through the friggin’ apocalypse.”

Castiel gave him a look, smiling despite himself. “That’s not funny.”

“And I wasn’t supposed to be Michael’s angel condom. C’mere, Flightless Boy Wonder.” The incredibly off-handedly sweet and affectionate way Dean had said the nickname made Cas’ heart flutter, despite its literal meaning.

“I am here,” the dark-haired man grinned.

“Closer.”

Feeling more giddy than he had in ages, Castiel raised a brow, playfully nudging Dean’s nose with his. “How close?”

Though the hunter meant to respond flirtatiously (which made the stupidly manly, close-minded part of him (conveniently passed down by his father) want to kill himself, but fuck it), he looked at his partner intensely despite the slight shudder in his voice: “As close as humanely possible.” 

By the time the pair finally fell asleep, the sun was beginning to rise. 


End file.
